Justice of a Stark
by LoveStoryMermaid
Summary: *SPOILERS FOR SEASON 5* In which, Sansa doesn't run away from Winterfell at the end of the season and decides to finally stand her ground at Winterfell. Justice for Ramsay and Stannis. Chance at Redemption for Reek/Theon.
1. A shift in power

**Justice of a Stark**

She was freezing, tired, sore, bruised, forlorn, scared and mad as hell for a million reasons. She was mad at the chain of events that had led her to be a prisoner in her own room. She was mad at Theon-Reek- for betraying her, again. She was mad at Ramsay for what he had done to her and her home. Sansa sat on the ledge, wrapped in the fur blanket as she looked out at the window. Looking out, she recalled days that seemed a lifetime ago when Theon had watched Robb and Jon work on sword fights and sometimes joined. There had been days when homey fires lit up in the fire poles around the court with the pounding of the blacksmith echoing out and the ladies hauling baskets of furs and clothes to be washed out back by the Godswood. Looking out now, there were men she didn't know flying the wrong banners and preparing battle provisions. Oddly enough, the snow also appeared to melting, beginning to remind Sansa of the summer she had known.

"' _I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my home and you can't frighten me_ ,'"* she had told Mryanda. It was well past time she lived up to that statement. Sansa pulled out the small square stone in the corner at the bottom of the window. The stone had been loose ever since she was little and thrown something across the room at Arya…it had afterwards long become a hiding spot of Sansa's. She hadn't a single clue what Arya had been up to, but Theon/Reek/whatever had told her that Bran and Rickon hadn't been…Well, they might still be alive and stupid though it may be, learning about her brothers had given her a strength and hope for them all that had long been missing and sorely needed. Sansa would find them. She was a Stark of Winterfell and she was done playing the frightened little girl. It was time she fulfilled the promise she had made with Lord Baelish and take back her home. And with Ramsay out, now was the time to move. Sansa grabbed the key she had hidden behind the loose stone and carefully opened the door.

* * *

There were two things he never tired of: women and war. The first needed no explanation and the second you only had to look at their house motto "Our blades are sharp." Ramsay was designed for this. He delighted in it. One swing to throw the weak soldier off balance, another to stab him in the chest. Again with the second. There was just one left. Injured at the base of a tree. Easy picking and then time to go home and fuck his wife. A perfect day. Ramsay swung his sword, but then stopped just as the blade began to barely nick the man's neck. Ramsay let out a laugh of pure, ecstatic amazement. "Well, what have we here?"

He smiled and mock bowed. "Lord Baratheon in the flesh. I'm honored. Declare full surrender now and I am prepared to offer you one chance to accept life as my loyal subject." Ramsay was met only with a stoic gaze. "What? Nothing to say to your Northern King? Ah, well then…" Ramsay brought the hilt of his sword hard onto the Lord's skull, effectively knocking him unconscious.

Ramsay motioned to his squire regarding the now unconscious Stannis in the snow. "Pack him up. Lord Baratheon must be granted simply our best accommodations."

Surely having heard his squire blow the horn announcing their victory, Reek was waiting when Ramsay returned. "Congratulations, my Lord. Is there anything my Lord needs ready to celebrate his victory?"

Ramsay smiled, "Reek, you have really portrayed a most excellent example of servitude to your Lord. You make me proud. So tonight, I think you'll help with something a little more interactive. Would you like that?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good, then come with me."

Ramsay led them across the courtyard past the direwolf statues that marked the entrance to the crypts and down into the firelit corridors until they turned right at the far end. Ramsey smiled, already looking over what he had to work with. In front of them was a man who had been strung out on a crudely constructed X.

"Reek, let me introduce to you esteemed Lord Baratheon who had the wisdom to attack our humble abode."

Reek took a double breath, but waited.

"Oh dear. The good lord seems to be ignoring us," he addressed and then spoke forward louder, "Didn't anyone teach him that ignoring company is rude? Reek, wake our guest up, will you? Don't be gentle."

With small jerks, Reek went forward, bringing his hand across Stannis's face with about the strength of two guys celebrating via fist bump. Stannis didn't move.

"Come on now, I didn't think I'd need to walk you through this step. We deserve his attention."

Reek slammed a punch into Stannis's stomach.

"Better," Ramsay said and then turned his attention to the Lord who had just awoken, "Ah, how kind of you to join us." Ramsay just shook his head at the predictable and useless attempt to move.

"Ramsey Snow," Stannis acknowledged wearily.

Ramsey picked up a knife and was at his lips in a second. "How dare you insult the Northern King! It's _Lord_ _Bolton_ now, Warden of the North. I should cut out your tongue…but you still need that… for a bit. I do want to commend you, though, on your sacrifice." Ramsay lowered the knife for a minute, an impish smile on his face. "It's not always easy and people never understand, do they? So many say we Boltons are cruel. But, you have to do what is required to give yourself the upper hand. I'm sure that's what you were thinking when you led your little girl to that pyre."

"Bastard! You have no idea…"

Ramsay cut him off with a jab to the neck and twisting a finger backwards. "I am Lord now, for one." He picked up one of the burning torches and brought it to Stannis's face. "For two, even I have to frown upon sacrificing your family. I mean, if nothing else it's just stupid sacrificing your only heir when she's a female whom you can wed off to form alliances." Ramsay continued, "I could give you further lecture on that, but I suppose your choices have only benefited me. So let's move on. We have terms to settle. Perhaps we'll play a game to establish them. If you don't have appropriate answers," he turned to Reek, "Reek here will let you know." He turned back to Stannis. "Now. What are our terms of surrender?"

Stannis attempted, "You rule the North with my soldiers at your command and me available for counsel."

Ramsay laughed, "That's adorable. First, you advise me? I don't think so. Second, you will address me properly. Third, your soldiers are dead. Reek."

Reek hesitated, glancing between the table with an array of tools, Stannis, and Ramsay.

Impatiently, Ramsey directed, "Reek will pick up a knife and introduce your belly to it for your audacity."

Reek hesitated another millisecond-just short enough for Ramsay not to notice-before tentatively picking up a knife. Almost imperceptibly, though, his grip became particularly more purposeful as he quickly made a halfhearted laceration across the abdomen.

"No, no, no. I really thought this was already taught. But, what is it they say? If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself. Reek, why don't you go make sure my wife is ready for me when I come."

Theon swallowed hard and turned with a liberated smile, not seeing what now caused the newest grunt of pain.

* * *

Theon saw them from the grounds. Sansa had somehow found her way out and Myranda had spotted her and would have none of it. Theon appeared behind Myranda, head bent low trying to make sense of all the thoughts that had risen to the surface. They say every man has a breaking point. They don't always realize that every man actually has two breaking points and Ramsay had just succeeded in hitting his second. He was ashamed it hadn't been with an event he wished he could forget, but as he listened to Myranda threaten Sansa, he knew it would not happen again. Not again on his watch. Clear for the first time in ages, he shoved Myranda over the banister.

Sansa stared at the broken body only a second before turning to him with an uncertain gaze. He grabbed her hand, knowing only one thing. "We have to go. When he's done with Stannis, he'll want you."

She took a breath and three steps with him before stopping. "With Stannis?"

"He… Stannis was captured and Ramsay's with his prisoner now. We have to get away while he's occupied."

Sansa looked longingly to the Winterfell gates before looking back over the castle grounds. She closed her eyes. "No." She took a breath. "I run and Winterfell is lost. I'm not running anymore."

"I won't leave you here."

She laughed bitterly. "Why not? You haven't done a _thing_ for me, all this time. Why now?"

He looked down, ashamed and only insinuating an apology as he knew it wouldn't hold. "I was scared."

Sansa shook her head, looking around. No time to retort, only insisting quickly, "Why now?"

He answered just as quickly, knowing they were running out of time. "I don't have a good answer for why it wasn't sooner, but he finally just asked one thing too far. You've no reason to trust me, but I _won't_ let anything else happen."

Fiercely, she demanded, "Swear to me on your sister's life you will help me."

"I swear it."

She glanced around again, "Then you come with me, but look like you're leading."

Sansa brought them back to her room and closed the door. She asserted, "We are in charge now, but he can't know that. While we make our moves, we must play along; so, we must also move quickly, but calculated. You know the Weirwood tree in the Godswood?"

Theon couldn't help it. He just stared at her.

"Theon! For the love of the Gods if you can't do this, decide now!"

"The Weirwood tree with the face and red leaves by the biggest hot spring."

"Yes. Do you remember there's a mushroom patch between there and the spring you would rest in after sparring….We called it Roulette Field because some were edible and some were poisonous. Theon, we need the poisonous ones, the death caps. I need you to pick them out. If you're careful you'll be able to tell the death caps from their rounder and greener cap. Check the gills on the underside carefully, the death caps we want will have pure white gills and absolutely no brown. The brown gills are edible. We want pure white gills and the mature death caps you can also identify by a musty rose smell. Do you understand?"

"Get poisonous mushrooms. They have white gills and a rose smell. Round and green. They're in a patch east from the Weirwood and next hot spring."

"Yes. Gather them and make sure they find their way to Ramsay's dinner plate in a day or two, you'll know when."

Theon gave the first hint of a smile he'd had in weeks; but, then asked, "What about you in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, I'll handle him," Sansa answered in the most definitive and determined voice he'd ever heard from her. "Oh, and Theon, Myranda committed suicide out of jealousy." He nodded once. Something had changed and it was obvious when Sansa ended, "He's not the only one who can play games. Now, hurry. Go."

* * *

Sansa had just enough time to collect herself with the change in events and to completely be ready to accept what her plan would mean when she heard him demand, "Reek, if you ever embarrass me like that again in front of a guest, you will be back with the dogs. Now everything had better be ready."

When he opened the door, already pulling off his shirt, Sansa was sitting up on the bed, letting one sleeve of her gown slip off her shoulder.

Ramsay smiled. "Well, my wife at least seems to know how to treat a victor." He eagerly closed the door and strided over. He grabbed her face in a harsh kiss that softened, surprised when she returned it, bringing her hands to his face. He pulled back, looking at her with a slightly suspicious, but impish grin.

Sansa answered. "I believe congratulations are in order, my lord."

"Naturally," he boasted and Sansa let him take her hand and bring them down on the bed. But, it was Sansa who was sure to control it now, bringing her leg around him. With an alluring smile, she looked at him. "Tell me about it." She attempted to exploit his pride, running her hands down his arms, looking over his torso. "Were you hurt?"

He scoffed, "Of course not." He pulled closed to her. "It was simple. Baratheon's pathetic army was in disarray. It was like crushing fleas."

"No prisoners?"

"Where would be the fun in that? A hunter never leaves without a trophy and particularly when it is such a fine one. Stannis Baratheon himself, the so called Lord of Light who burns his own children…well, what'll be left of him."

Sansa stiffened. She hadn't known that and it made it so that she was just about finished with all of them.

Ramsay looked at her. "But, why are we troubling with these unpleasant matters? We should be celebrating!" He yanked off her dress before she could do anything. But, while he pulled off his own trousers, she looked at him and considered, "What do you plan to do with Lord Stannis?"

Ramsay shrugged, "I'll have my fun and then dispose of him."

Sansa raised an eyebrow, "Just string him up like the man on your banners? Doesn't that get old? For the man who threatened your claim to the North, I would have thought you'd have something more…spirited plan."

He considered. "You make a point. What would you propose?"

"I hear you like hunting."

Ramsay beamed and grabbed her to him, kissing her chest, "Who would have thought it of a Stark? She's got some ruthlessness hidden in her after all."

Sansa smiled softly. "You do hope so, yes?" She paused just a moment, pushing herself up to face him. "There's something else. Another reason I hope should please you…I'm pregnant."

He sat up and starting laughing gleefully. "Wonderful! Then, we must announce this immediately to the house" He pulled her close once with a final kiss. Then, he pulled on his shirt and jacket and tossed her a shawl. "Make yourself presentable. I'll have Reek prepare a bath. I'll make preparations and be back in under the hour for our announcement. And then…perhaps you'd like to accompany me on that hunt?"

"If it so pleases you, my Lord," Sansa granted and moved her hand and gaze to her stomach. "Though, I might worry about putting the baby at risk with too much exertion or an accidental fall."

"You're absolutely right. You should be resting. Reek is an excellent hunter anyway."

Ramsay strided to the door then, for once not locking it. Sansa took a moment to compose herself for all that had just past. And, she refused to currently think about what Ramsay had just said about Theon. Perhaps, it was best if she grant he'd had no more choice than she had until they'd both been pushed too far. Overall, she was pleased with what she had accomplished and a hunt would give Stannis justice and Theon a chance to harvest mushrooms. If all went well, she would never have to deal with either Stannis or Ramsay threatening her or her home again. She had only given a devious smile before she heard a cry just outside the door. She had worried about having to deal with Myranda beforehand, but Ramsay had clearly been too preoccupied before to notice. While he was surely still preoccupied, it was harder to overlook on your way down and the timing even better now worked to her advantage.

Sansa pulled her shawl and went over to see the expected reason, but played appropriately horrified. "My lord, I'm so sorry."

Ramsay's face went from grief to confusion to acceptance in just over a minute. "She was a silly thing, and jealous. But, she was never able to give me a son."

Sansa nodded subserviently. Ramsay looked back once and swallowed hard. "We still meet in an hour. Now more than ever we must."

* * *

Now, more than ever, he must take care of one final thing. He was legitimately a Bolton. Winterfell was his. His wife was pregnant. But, earlier his wife had made one important point about another baby who threatened all of it. He made his way to his father's private chambers, bringing his crossbow with him. Before he left to address the residents of Winterfell, he locked the door to his father's private chamber where Roose and Walda now slept with arrows in their chest. He would dispose of the bodies later in the night when everyone was asleep.

* * *

In one hour Sansa was looking out on the new residents of Winterfell in a simple, fitted, dark green dress. There were a few old faces who seemed subtly sympathetic, but most were strangers. She was in a fitted purple dress with her butterfly necklace as she listened to Ramsay address the crowd.

"My fellow Northerners, today we must acknowledge the loss of many great heroes, sons, beloveds…Berto fought with bravery to put many men to shame. Aldrich displayed the finest swordsmanship we have seen in a long time." He paused as if in a moment of remembrance before continuing. "Some of us my dwell on these losses as did my Myranda, but we must not be driven to madness. Today, my fellow Northerners, today is day of victory! We have held what we have fought for so long. Today, we have officially claimed the North as ours to command!" The crowd-most of them-let out a cheer. Sansa gave the smallest of smiles. Ramsay appeased the crowd to settle. "With this victory, my father has left to secure further allegiances to the North, to the House Bolton, while I remain here on his behalf. Yes, yes, a day hard won, but a wonderful day. But, it has been made it more special by a lovely announcement from my beloved wife." He pulled her close and she was sure to hold her head high and demand their attention, but was also appropriately shy for the announcement. "My wife carries the heir to the North! So tonight, my fellow Northerners, celebrate and be merry!" This time the crowd was mixed. Some shouted out in pleasure, some offered congratulations, but a few mumbled and others cast suspicious or wary glances. Ramsay didn't seem to notice as he waved the crowd goodbye, taking her hand and leading her away.

Sansa knew that Ramsay wanted more from her than he had gotten today. But, she hoped she had given him enough in other areas for him to agree as well as buy the bullshit. She stopped just outside her door and turned to him, taking his hands. "My Lord, if I may be so bold. It is well known among women that if the mother has sex within the first week of conception, there is a high chance of the child being born retarded."

"Is that so? I can't say I've heard that."

Perfect opportunity. "Well, you aren't a woman now, are you, my Lord."

He scoffed. "Of course not." He regarded her. "And you're right that we mustn't do anything to harm our child. But, I can't but help notice a sudden change in your attitude, Lady Sansa. You will forgive me if it strikes me as somewhat odd."

Sansa was coy. "What can I say? Being with child changes things."

Ramsay seemed to accept that. "That it does. Very well, my good wife. Tonight, at least, you may have to yourself."

"Thank you and goodnight, my Lord." He didn't see the proud, deadly smile as she turned away.

* * *

Disclaimers:

* _Game of Thrones_ "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."

This is for fun. I own absolutely none of the characters.

I normally don't write M rated stories. This fanfic is within the assumption the reader is mature and familiar with Game of Thrones.

We all know we're not getting good/happy endings with this show. So, this is this closest attempt I'm giving with fanfic.


	2. The hunt

Theon woke to a sharp jab in the ribs and was unsurprised, if not dismayed to see the boot belonged to Ramsay. But, he made Lady Sansa a promise and he would not betray her again. And if she was willing to do this, so was he.

"Reek, it's been too long since we've had some good entertainment, don't you think? And I think our guest would appreciate being back on his feet. Be sure the two of you meet us at the woods in five minutes."

He gave a humble and quick nod. Knowing this was both Ramsay's way of not yet forgiving him for yesterday and giving himself a chance to be redeemed. What he didn't know was it was also the chance Theon needed to help Sansa, even if he hated the idea of another hunt. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to forgive himself for his sins, but twisted as it currently was, he could at least try to amend for them.

He hadn't really expected to have any problems with this particular command of Ramsay's as he walked outside. However, he stopped at the direwolf statues from which you could also see the stage where everything had gone wrong. How had he been so stupid? Pride, he supposed. His real father didn't care and Ned would have been so ashamed. Why hadn't he realized that before? He always screwed up. And he still wasn't sure if this was the way; but, he wouldn't make the same mistake of disobeying his family—disowned now as he may be from them.

He shook his head as he walked down the catacombs. Lord Stannis met him with a tired, but still defiant glare he recognized. Theon fought against other memories of his own so called "escape" as he silently let Stannis down. He realized something now: part of what had taken him so long was that it had been easy. It was easier to have hidden as mindless Reek than to accept what Theon had done. Ramsay had a way of not needing lies, but rather using the truth to torture someone. So, he suspected that what had been said about Lord Stannis's daughter was true. Theon told himself that granting him death, while a brutal one, was still gracious if it was true. Yes, Lady Sansa was not to be underestimated.

The catacombs had a far exit that emptied directly into the woods where Ramsay and his dogs were waiting. "If you beat the dogs, you win your freedom." Ramsay announced given Stannis ten seconds to understand. After two, Lord Stannis panicked and ran.

Ramsay watched him go for a few seconds and then announced, "Get him, girls!" He was off with the dogs, calling also, "Come on, Reek!"

He followed for a time, running through the ancient, dim woods. Ramsay laughed. "You'll have to be faster than that!" Ramsay didn't expect Theon to keep up and it worked perfectly that he had forgotten him by the time they were near the mushroom patch.

Theon quickly veered off to Roulette Field. It had been forever since he'd been here and he'd forgotten just how similar they all looked. Roulette Field was aptly named, but Sansa had been clear on the differences. Mostly closer to the large oak in the field, he noted the subtly more rounded and green caps of some, checking carefully and quickly for the white gills. He had gathered a good handful when he heard the grunt. He stuffed the mushrooms into his coat pocket and began running to meet them as the first screams echoed out.

As he met them out of breath, he almost gagged as the dogs bit at the already mangled, bloody mess on the ground before Ramsay. Ramsay silently acknowledged that Reek had caught up. "Good girls," he praised. As the dogs licked their chops, Theon saw Lord Stannis take what looked to be his final breath. As they walked away, he knew that even if he was still alive the weather and wounds would soon kill him. No one ever had won the game.


	3. Poison

Ramsay was curled up and grasping his side, leaning over the chamber pot. He didn't understand what was wrong. After they got back from the hunt that day, they had a fantastic lunch with well earned meat and wonderfully sweet, earthy mushrooms. Clearly, though, either something had not agreed with him or he'd caught a bad ailment somewhere. If it hadn't been for his pride, he would have settled on just setting up in the lavatory as he'd been in so often either with retching or explosive bowel movements.

It was just after he had heaved up what surely must be the last of his stomach that some fool decided to check in. He didn't even get a word out before Ramsay weakly, but angrily told him, "Get out!"

By what should have been dinner time, Ramsay was not feeling any better; but, he had at least made it to bed. He certainly was not in any state to be eating a large meal with other people. "Reek," he called and his loyal pet appeared shortly. "Inform my wife that I will not be requiring her accompaniment to dinner tonight."

"Yes, my Lord. Is there anything I get my Lord?"

"Get out."

Although not laden with marble halls and having thicker walls than most castles, Winterfell was by no means ever quiet. Sansa had heard the residents gossip earlier about what was the cause of the terrible moaning. Some thought someone was badly hurt and others assumed Ramsay had decided to entertain himself in more personal quarters. Of course, Sansa had suspected the truth even before Theon had come to tell her that Ramsay wanted to see no one the night before. This morning, there were no more sounds of retching, but no one had yet seen Ramsay leave his room either.

* * *

That had changed by evening. Ramsay had escorted the two of them to dinner that night in his best clothes. Over dinner, he eagerly retold the battle with Lord Baratheon's army with any who had not been present. The dinner guests chatted quietly that he simply must have eaten something that hadn't agreed with him. The young boys asked about details and the women gasped in horrified glee. Ramsay certainly seemed back to his normal self as he ended, "I hope everyone has enjoyed tonight and our most recent victory. Though, I fear my wife has been quite lonely over it all." He took his leave and Sansa rose to his expectation that she go with him.

Sansa knew that it was now that would be the most troublesome, but she had planned for it. As only she knew, the effects of the mushroom had far from been cured; it only had entered its second asymptomatic phase. So, she let Ramsay lead her back to her room and even allowed him to think that was actually how it would go with a few received kisses. But, when he yanked her onto her back in bed, she flung her arm out. In less than a second, she had grabbed the metal pan Theon had stolen from the kitchens, left for her and she hit Ramsay square on the back of the head. She shoved his unconscious body off him, not caring about the thud as he hit the floor. It was rather satisfying and she was willing to let everyone else make their own assumptions as to the sound.

It was so tempting to just kill him now, for her to run away or hide him away until the mushrooms had finished him off. But, first, she didn't want to miss her revenge. Second, she knew it would be too suspicious if one of them disappeared right now. So, she instead accepted the best option and hoisted Ramsay back on the bed, taking off only his shirt for the moment in the case he might wake back up. She waited on edge for the next couple hours making sure that didn't happen. When it didn't, she haphazardly tossed his clothes off next to her own gown she slipped off. Then, she settled down on the ground bed she had made for an uneasy night's sleep. Early in the morning, she would hide her makeshift bed and climb in next to him to create the allusion.

The next two days were rather uneventful. Ramsay had taken her bait and gone on with the day. Though, by evening he was ever so subtly quieter. He made suggestions as to evening activities, but was also uncharacteristically indifferent to the matter. By, the third day, his loyal people began to worry. Ramsay did not confine himself to his room. But, he spent more time there than not and the matters he did attend to had people whispering that he seemed tired or unwell. Once or twice that third day, the sound of retching again filled the halls again.

The fourth day after that fateful lunch, it was Sansa's turn again when someone called for a doctor. Apparently, Ramsay's squire had gone to help him dress and found him ill appearing and disoriented.

Sansa ran to meet the doctor. "Please, you have to help him. My husband is not well. He was very ill a few days ago, but seemed to get better. And then today he didn't get out of bed."

"Yes, yes. Well, let me see him," Sansa nodded, quickly leading the doctor to Ramsay's room. "I'll let you work. But, please, take care of him." _Please make sure he doesn't recover._

Before turning to wait, Sansa caught sight of him. His skin had yellowed and he was slightly curled up in the bed, every now and then working to breathe. His gaze did not stay in one place for long until the doctor walked in. When he did, Sansa heard him ask, "Father?"

Outside, she heard the doctor reply, "I'm afraid not. I'm a doctor. I've been called to see if I can help."

"Why do I need help?"

"Well, I'm afraid you're quite sick."

"You're sick? I don't care." Ramsay answered.

"Lord Bolton, do you know where you are?" Sansa heard the doctor ask.

"By the Weeping Waters at Winterfell."

"You are at Winterfell, but Winterfell is by White Knife. Ok, I'll be back in a moment."

"Lady Bolton?" the doctor stepped outside and asked.

Sansa almost didn't respond and then nearly started when she realized he was addressing her. But, she covered well with the disguise of worry. "Yes? Can you help him?"

"I'm afraid it appears his liver is failing. Maybe his kidneys as well. I don't believe there is much I can do."

"What? No, please, there must be something."

The doctor shook his head, "We can always try leeches, but I really am not optimistic. You should prepare yourself…"

"Try them."

"Very well," he nodded. "I will get you when we are done."

Later that night, Sansa went to see her husband, donned in the black dress she wore when she had first returned to Wintefell. The leeches had clearly not helped. Several people were at the door and warned, "He has sent everyone but his squire and the one he calls Reek away, my lady."

"I will see my husband." She walked past them and entered in time to see Ramsay start twitching for about 5 seconds and then vomit into a bucket at his bedside. He did not even acknowledge she was there. She shared a subtle, quiet and quick glance with Theon before taking her position.

She knelt by the bed, taking Ramsay's hand. "I thought you said you would never give this place up. You said you would never leave me alone here. Don't you break that promise." He half looked at her, but made no other indication.

Sansa dropped her head, swallowing hard. She looked at the two others in the room. "Walder, Theon, leave us." They nodded. Theon left first without a glance. Walder remained a second, understanding, and saying a final goodbye before leaving.

Sansa was feeling sick with the niceties required of this act, but it was almost over and she had her revenge. She stepped outside and addressed the small crowd that had gathered, "I'm afraid the doctor has said…he's said Lord Bolton may not make the night. The doctor has left, believing his liver is failing and his best efforts have not helped. Those who wish should pay their respects." Sansa stepped aside and let the distressed crowd into the room.

Later that night, Sansa sat alone with Ramsay. He vomited once more, but mostly remained curled on his side, moaning, but not very aware of where he was. Slowly, she let her act drop and her face finally began to express her true elated feelings. She may have dozed that night, but she did not sleep. She would not miss this. Ramsay had slept fitfully, but was still alive come morning if not highly confused. The sun had just completely broken the dawn of the fifth day when that changed for about five minutes. His rapid breathing began to become regular and he looked at her with a clear gaze of recognition. His voice was weak, but defiant, "You ought not to have been underestimated, ruthless Stark. But if you think you've won, you haven't learned anything."

She only met him with a heartless, defiant gaze. She presumed he meant she didn't know how to rule and perhaps didn't think she could be successful. But, surely Ramsay had realized she had learned how to play and would only get better.

Ramsay seized then, lasting about two minutes. When he stopped convulsing, he had stopped breathing and had no pulse. Sansa wanted to laugh out loud and cry with happiness and relief. As it was, she allowed herself two happy breaths and a few tears to fall—all the more to sell it. Most people were shallow fools, after all, content to blindly follow where there was power. To Ramsay's corpse she said, "Winterfell belongs to the Starks. Valar Morghulis."

Sansa walked outside where it appeared all of Winterfell's residents had heard the news. They were looking up at her from the courtyard. She addressed them, "My lords and ladies, Lord Bolton has died." She allowed the crowd maybe two minutes to process it. Some shouted out in anguish, others looked lost, a few were either nodding with small smiles or just waiting. "Lord Roose Bolton is away on business. It is up to us to deal with Lord Bolton's death appropriately."

"We must notify him!" "We must pay respects!"

"Of course," Sansa addressed evenly, "Lord Roose Bolton will be contacted promptly. Those of you who wish to pay your respects and have not yet had the chance may do so without fear. As Lady Bolton, I will oversee this and you will look to me for any affairs until Lord Roose Bolton arrives." She became more bold in tone, "But understand this. My birth name is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and that is the name I reclaim this day! Lord Roose Bolton is welcome back to meet me here and discuss ownership, but until then, Winterfell once again belongs to the Starks!" The crowd went into a frenzy. But, there were those few who helped her maintain some control as she continued, "If anyone has a problem with this, they may leave peacefully now. Otherwise, they will know the justice of a Stark."


End file.
